Sake, Tea, and Cherry Blossoms
by Kat36
Summary: (Completed) Another story about Hiko and my character Hikaru Hiko, now a Master, returns to Edo to find Hikaru, and gets a surprise. (sequel to Teahouse)
1. Chapter 1 Return

Notes, notes, more notes. Someone will eventually tell me to shut up. Consider the usual disclaimers made - I don't own any part of Rurouni Kenshin, nor do I own Hiko, as much as I'd like to. All characters other than Hiko in this story are my own invention.

This is a sequel to Teahouse, so if you haven't read it, you might want to do that first.

The rating on this is still PG, but I'm pushing it a bit. There is an adult theme and some (mild) sexual content.

For those who _have_ read Teahouse... Niitsu is now Hiko, age 18, a Hiten Mitsurugi Master, and has returned to Edo to look up Hikaru again. And he's about to get a big and not very pleasant surprise. "Return" is the first of three parts which will take this somewhat unusual romance almost to the point where Kenshin enters the picture.

Also, I write this assuming that the reader knows about the manner in which the Hiten Mitsurugi succession technique is passed on. If you don't, there are one or two places in this which might have you going "Huh?" Also, although Murasaki is of the merchant class and shouldn't have a last name, I claim poetic license - it's just more comfortable for me to use one.

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The geisha Umeko was plump and pleasing, and her eyes smiled roguishly at him over the patterned silk of her fan. But Seijuro Hiko the 13th had no patience for flirting. That wasn't what he was here for. "I just want to know where I can find Hikaru. Where is she working now?"

The fan folded with a snap, and the eyes brightened with interest. "I know you! I thought I recognized you, but the cape makes you look different. You're Hikaru's boyfriend."

"It was never like that," he growled. "We're just friends. But I _would_ like to find her, preferably before the era comes to an end. I've asked two other girls, but neither of them knows where she is. They say she just disappeared. One of them said you were her best friend, however. Is that right, or not?"

"I still am her best friend."

He hadn't realized how he'd tensed when talking about Hikaru disappearing until he relaxed at those words. "Then tell me where I can find her."

"I'm not sure I should."

"I'm very sure you should."

She smiled. "That sounds like a threat. What a bad man you are. But Hikaru is married now, you know."

_Married? Hikaru – married?_ He would have been less shocked to hear that she'd died. People died all the time, but... married? The country was in turmoil, his Master was dead, and now Hikaru was married. Didn't _anything_ stay the same?

None of what was in his mind showed on his face, however. He said evenly, "I didn't know. When did she marry? And who?"

"Mr. Murasaki, an important man in the city," Umeko said, sounding as pleased as if she'd arranged the match herself. "They married about a year ago now. Yes, a year ago, because it was in the spring, I remember."

He knew Murasaki, by sight and reputation, a chubby little man in his 60s at least, a merchant who had earned all the money he wished and now sought to reach beyond his class and become as influential as he was wealthy. Hiko really didn't want to hear any more, but he asked anyway. "Is she happy?"

"Why wouldn't she be? Mr. Murasaki is rich and has always treated her well."

That wasn't what he meant, but he didn't think Umeko would understand what he did mean. He wasn't sure he understood it himself. For a moment, he hesitated. Since she was married now, she'd have no use for him. She might not even remember him, or, if she did, she might not want to bother herself to see him. On the other hand, she was the lodestone that had drawn him to Edo. If not for her, he'd be far to the west, where his skill was needed, not here in this dirty, overcrowded city.

No, he wouldn't waste his time and energy. Since he'd come all this way, he would finish this. "I'd still like to see her. Where does Mr. Murasaki live?"

Following Umeko's directions, he found his way to the Murasaki estate home without trouble. It was enormous, looking from the street like a rambling collection of colorful tiled peaked roofs behind walls of pale stone. On a sure instinct, he circled it, looking for the gardens he knew he'd find. In the back, he heard feminine laughter. A sturdy wooden gate pierced the wall nearby; when he tried it, he found it unlocked. _Stupid. Why have a secure gate, and then leave it open?_ Without apology, he let himself into the garden.

Two women were about ten feet away from him, one on her knees planting a sapling, the other holding a parasol over her, a wooden bucket beside her feet. For a second, he didn't even recognize Hikaru as the kneeling woman. She wore loose pants and a plain kimono, her hair was done up in a casual knot under a broad-brimmed straw hat, and her face was bare of any make-up. Bemused, he simply stood and stared at her. Of all the ways he'd imagined meeting her again, none of them had even approached this. Yet, once he'd absorbed the differences and knew her again, he felt the same strong internal pull toward her and the same pleasure in simply seeing her and hearing her voice. That, at least, was one thing which hadn't changed in this world.

With her hands protected by heavy leather gloves, Hikaru patted the earth around the sapling's roots and tilted the bucket to pour water over them. Then she removed the gloves and stroked the bark of the young tree, saying, "There, that should set you up very well, and you'll grow tall and straight and beautiful. Won't you?"

The other woman giggled. Hiko didn't blame her. What an idiotic thing, to talk to a tree. But Hikaru had some silly notion that talking nicely to plants helped them grow better. He'd seen her do it on their river walk. It was absurd, but it was Hikaru, so it was also charming.

He realized that seeing her like this, paradoxically, only made her more dear to him. For once his Master had been wrong about something. Three years ago, Seijuro Hiko the 12th had laughed at him, insisting he suffered nothing more than a boy's infatuation for a pretty face, a charm of manner, and a bottle of sake. Hiko still didn't know much about women (his Master always said there _was_ no way to know about them), but he knew he'd never get this one out of his mind.

The maid saw him first. She gasped and went pale, which he supposed was natural for a woman turning in her familiar garden and seeing a stranger standing there, a very large man with a sword under his cloak. The woman's hand reached down to Hikaru's shoulder and gripped convulsively. "Madame...!"

Hikaru looked up, alert but unalarmed, and saw him. For a long, long moment they were frozen, staring at each other, her eyes growing huge and round, and he knew that he'd been right to seek her out. She hadn't forgotten him, any more than he'd forgotten her. Everything he'd sensed between them, three years ago, which his Master had laughed away, had been real and true, and still existed in all its strength.

Both of them completely forgot their surroundings and stared at each other, silent, Hikaru not even breathing, until the maid bleated, "Madame, we should run."

Hiko's lips twitched as Hikaru's face lit with appreciative amusement. She rose smoothly to her feet, saying to the maid, although she never looked away from him, "Don't be ridiculous, Sakue. This is a guest, a friend of mine. Go prepare the garden tea room. Go on, don't be afraid, it's all right, I promise you." She waved a hand, vaguely, and the maid bowed and went away. When the door shut behind the girl, she said, "Kakunoshin," on a breath, and walked without hesitation into his arms.

He held her for a moment, unable to believe this was the first time he'd ever done so. It felt as comfortable as coming home to his own room after a long trip. She smelled of jasmine and earth. He tilted up her chin. "That's no longer my name," he pointed out.

"I don't care," she said, and closed her eyes for his kiss.

The kiss was also their first, but it was she who was tentative, her lips testing before she gave herself to him. He knew what he wanted, waited a moment for her to soften, and then took it. He kissed her until she was breathless, released her for a few seconds to see the dazed smile in her eyes, took off the ridiculous hat (which was getting in his way), and then kissed her breathless again. This was all he had come to Edo for, so he took his time and took his fill. When he finally let her go, it was only to keep her against his chest, where she rubbed her cheek like a kitten. Remembering his Master's laughter at all the sake and company Hikaru had given him for nothing, he remarked, half to the old man's spirit, "I got that for free, too."

Under his hands, her shoulders shook before the laugh broke out. "You _are_ the rudest man I've ever known. Couldn't you say something romantic at a time like this?"

"It was too good for anything so trite."

"That," she sighed, "was romantic enough." She tilted her head back to study him. "You've changed."

"I'm older."

"It's not just that," she chuckled. Then a tiny wrinkle appeared between her brows. "What do you mean, Kakunoshin isn't your name?"

"My name is now Seijuro Hiko the 13th. I'm the Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style now. When an apprentice becomes the Master, he inherits the cape and the name."

She fingered the red collar of the cape. "I feel silly. I never even noticed. I only saw your face. So you are now Seijuro? That will be difficult," she smiled. "I've been thinking of you as Kakunoshin, all these years."

"I didn't believe you would think of me at all."

"You are either lying, or far too modest. And somehow I suspect the former." Her face was serious but her eyes sparkled with laughter, just as he remembered her. They could have been on the river walk together again. "So what shall I call your former Master then?"

"He's dead."

The laughter went out of her eyes and she pulled a little away from him. "I'm so sorry. What happened? I know he was old, but I thought he was in excellent health."

Somehow, at this moment, he simply couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth about his Master's death. He said, "He died in battle."

"He would have preferred that. But I always heard he was invincible."

"No man is." _Particularly if you teach your apprentice exactly how to beat you._

"You must miss him terribly."

"Yes," he said, and realized, with some surprise, that she was right.

A door scraped, and she pulled away from him sharply. "I don't know what I'm doing. It was just such a shock to see you again."

"You didn't think I'd come back? I said I would."

"I thought you would for the first year or so. I hoped you would. But then I gave up."

The maid, Sakue, came up the path toward them. "Madame, the tea is ready."

She turned with a smile. "Have the tray brought out to the table in the garden. And get some sake for the gentleman."

Sakue bowed and left them. Hiko said, "In the garden? For old times' sake?"

"No," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "For privacy. And I thought you might prefer sake to tea."

"Infinitely. Is it good sake?"

"The best. Better than I could offer you at the teahouse."

_Of course. Nothing but the best for Mr. Murasaki._ He followed her through the garden and thought that, whatever Murasaki was like as a husband, this was the perfect setting for Hikaru. The gardens were lush and extensive, and the tea table was in a pavilion which overlooked a pond complete with a tiny boat decorated with a swan's head. The pavilion was exquisite, the wood pillars carved and polished, the rice paper panels cleverly set to move in several directions, depending on sun and wind. The table was lacquered and trimmed with gold, and the tea service, decorated tastefully with plum blossoms, was of a porcelain so fine he was glad not to have to take any of it in his own hands. Even the sake cup was glazed and nearly translucent, and the sake was fit for the gods. The plain kimono Hikaru wore, he'd noticed when holding her, was of softest silk, she wore a jade luck pendant on a gold chain, and her hair, even in a plain knot, was secured with silver combs topped with what looked like amethyst beads. Yet there was nothing of pride about Hikaru. She ordered the servants kindly, sent them on their way with smiling thanks, and poured for them both with all her geisha grace, as casual as if she had never known any other way of life than this.

It hurt. He'd never had anything to offer her, never expected more than what they'd already had, stupidly expecting her to still be a geisha and his friend. Never once had anything like this crossed his mind.

"Why are you _scowling_ so?" she demanded, and he looked up, met her eyes, and saw the same woman. Whatever had happened in her life, Hikaru was still Hikaru.

"I'm wondering why you married."

"I see. And you are thinking it was for this," with a wave of her hand at the garden, "or this?" She pulled one of the combs from her hair and tossed it at him. He caught it automatically, watching as the released strand of hair tumbled slowly down her shoulder and leg, to coil on the ground. "It wasn't. I am very fortunate that Mr. Murasaki asked me to marry him, but if a another man who was equally kind, but much less wealthy, had wanted to marry me, I would have accepted him gladly. You don't understand, do you?"

"No."

"All this you see around you, it is mine, through my husband. By law. It can't be taken away from me. And I don't have to work hard, every day, every night, always on not enough sleep, to keep it mine. I'm secure. If I get ill, I won't have to worry about losing income, and someone will care for me. My friends now are not geisha and customers, women who wanted to be my rivals and men who only wanted my pleasant lies. They're wives and mothers, respectable women, and if they must lie, as all women do, it is only to one man and only occasionally."

"All right, stop it. I get the point."

"I don't want you thinking I married only for wealth. Give me back my comb." As she tucked her hair back, she suddenly smiled at him and said, "You know, if I married, it would inevitably be a rich man. Except for you, rich men were all I ever met."

He laughed. He didn't want to, but she'd always been able to make him laugh with her. Then he asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. He couldn't see how she could love Fujio Murasaki, who was old and wrinkled and paunchy, who fawned on all men of power and looked down on all men without wealth. But he asked her anyway. After all, as his Master had warned him, there was no way to fathom a woman.

"No, of course I don't love Fujio," she replied, as casually as if she'd told him the color of a new fan. "I esteem him, and he treats me as if I were nobility. That is a great deal, and I am fortunate. But we didn't marry for love, neither of us. You know why I married him, but you are wrong about why he married me."

"Am I?"

"You think it's because I'm pretty and charming and compliant. You think I have nothing to do but sit around here looking lovely."

"Well?"

"I'll have you know I work very hard. Fujio didn't want a wife in the ordinary sense. His first wife had given him all he needed as far as wives go. She gave him good connections, help building his businesses, and two strong sons. But she lacked refinement and culture. What Fujio wanted in his second wife was a woman who could create the kind of home that was right for a rich and powerful man. He wanted to bring men of influence here and have them envy him. Do you see? My beauty means little to him, no more than the beauty of his front door. For that sort of thing, he has a mistress, just as he had me when his first wife was alive." She laughed. "You should see your face."

No one else could read him, but she always could. "It's disgusting."

"You are an idealist. I am a woman who, two years ago, had no husband and no future other than what I could earn for myself."

Being called an idealist made him stop and think. She was right, of course. Those who studied the Hiten Mitsurugi had to balance the fine line between ideals and real life, but they could never afford to lose sight of the ideal, or they risked becoming corrupt. He'd just never applied any ideals to specific people before. Only to her. Was he disappointed in her now? No. If anything, her clear-eyed honesty only made him respect her more. But he felt sorry for her, being trapped between two such unpalatable positions and having to decide. She'd picked the right one, and he wouldn't change his own life, but he still wished things had been different for them. "Then you're happy here?"

"I'm contented. I enjoy my work, my home, and my companions."

"I should leave. Or is it conceited in me to think my presence might make you less contented?"

"Your presence makes me happy."

His chest hurt. How could mere words have that effect? "There's no place in your life now for me."

She put a hand on his wrist where it rested between them on the table. "When Fujio asked me to marry him, he was completely honest with me. He told me exactly what he wanted and what he expected from me, and what our life would be like. Then he asked me to do the same, for if we couldn't agree, he would have to look elsewhere for a wife. I said to him that I accepted and would happily do everything he wished, but that I had one condition. I told him I was glad that, of all the things he wanted from me, my heart was not one of them. I told him that had already been given, that I loved a man, and that if the man ever came back into my life, I would have to follow my heart wherever it led. Fujio asked me if that was likely, that this man would come back, and I said I doubted it. So he agreed with my stipulation, asking only that, should the unlikely ever occur and the man I loved came back to me, that I not cause the Murasaki name to lose face. This I agreed to. But you see, I did keep a place in my life for you."

He had no words to answer this. He didn't think there were any which would be adequate. He turned his hand under hers, lifted it, and kissed her palm. She sighed and said, "Then you won't leave me again?"

"I never did leave you. I was just busy for a few years."

She burst into laughter, releasing the tension between them. "Give me back my hand, you beast. In a day or so you will become busy again, and then it will be another three years before I see you?"

"You're right, I have to leave Edo again soon. But I'll come back more often. My Master wouldn't allow me to come back before."

"Master Hiko knew I loved you. He didn't want to lose you. That's why he kept you away."

"He knew?"

"Yes."

"That _bastard."_

"Kakunoshin – no, Seijuro. Don't be angry. Can you look in your heart and say he was wrong? Would you have wanted to make the choice between me and the Hiten Mitsurugi? He made that choice for you, and if he was selfish about which path he chose, at least he had the kindness to know you couldn't have made it yourself at that time without great loss. Do you really regret it now?"

He wanted to say yes. But the Hiten Mitsurugi had been a part of him for ten years and more. He'd been born to it, his Master had always told him. And the title he carried now, although bought with blood and sorrow, was his greatest pride. In a way, it _was_ his life. He shook his head.

"I didn't think so. But you have a choice to make now, and no one to make it for you."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Do you want me to come with you now?"

He stared at her. "Would you?"

"If you asked me, yes."

"That would lose face for the Murasaki name, wouldn't it?"

"No. I could arrange something. I have thought about it, you know, from time to time."

He was terribly tempted, and looked into the half-full sake cup, letting the thoughts and images which came to him wash through his mind and go back to the dreamworld in which they belonged. Then he reached across the table, took Hikaru's leg in his hand, and pulled it forward, despite her laughing protest, until he could remove her zori and hold her foot. It was so small, he could hold all of it in one hand. He ran a thumb across the high, delicate arch. "Look at you," he said. "How far would you be able to walk with me on this little foot? How could you sleep in the open with nothing but the clothes you stood up in? Go hungry and thirsty for days? Bathe, when you got the chance, in icy rivers? You'd be dead in a month."

She'd sobered. "Is that how you live?"

"Not always. But often enough. I can't take you with me, Hikaru. I wish I could, but I'd have to change the man I am, to do it."

"I don't want you to change. I love you just as you are."

He released her foot. "You seem to be full of decision, Madame Murasaki. What do you suggest?"

She tucked her leg neatly back under her and pointed past his shoulder. "Do you see over there, that little building against the wall?"

He did. Set in a clearing surrounded by scattered pines, it was built much like the pavilion in design, elegant and airy, but was larger and completely enclosed, a tiny home of probably two rooms. "What of it?"

"That is what my husband calls his summer house. He entertains there, when he wishes to entertain in private. No servants go near, and it is set where eavesdropping would be difficult. Now, look that way. Do you see that building, with the blue roof?"

This one was smaller, tucked in a curve of young cherry trees, but equally pretty. "What is that one?"

"That is _my_ summer house," she smiled. "If you come tonight, after the moon sets, to the same gate you came through today, I'll show it to you."

His heart thudded.

She said, "Will you come? Tonight, and whenever you are in Edo?"

He was so elated that he wanted to shout with it, and as a result, was more harsh with himself and with her than he might otherwise have been. "You're asking me to cuckold your husband with you?"

She didn't take offense or even flinch. "Yes, I am. But I am also asking you to love me. If you don't want to do either of those things, I will understand. We will still be friends."

An entire lifetime of self-discipline was exploding in him. He couldn't allow it. He rose abruptly, turned, and strode off.

Her voice halted him. "Seijuro?" It was the first time he'd ever heard her sound frightened.

He stood still a moment, until he could speak calmly. "I'll be there tonight," he said, and walked on. She didn't stop him again.


	2. Chapter 2 Summer House

Hiko and Hikaru have their assignation in Hikaru's summer house. Here's the sex I promised you, but it's not too explicit, don't be scared.

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With the setting of the moon, the alley beside the Murasaki residence was so dark, even Hiko had trouble seeing his way. The gate in the back wall was simply a blacker square in the blackness, detected more by feel than sight. But it was already unlocked, and someone had given thought to the possibility of his getting lost, because as soon as he touched the gate, it opened and a small hand grabbed his and pulled him inside. At this hour, in this darkness, he thought Hikaru was carrying discretion a little too far. Then a soft, scented woman's body slid into his arms, hands tangled in his hair, and lips hungrily sought his, and he realized it was eagerness and not discretion that had caused her to drag him in so quickly.

It was very gratifying. It was also exciting. Whatever she was wearing, it was thin, made of silk, had no obi, and was a negligible barrier between his hands and her skin.

She broke the kiss after a long time, nibbled on his lower lip, then his ear, and kissed him again. Then she laid her cheek against his chest and chuckled. "You can be seen from half a mile away in this cape." After a moment, "I can feel your heart beating. It's so strong." Then she chuckled again. "I'm not usually this impulsive."

Impulsive? She was pressed tightly against him from breast to knee. There had to be a better word than "impulsive". When she pulled away from him, he actually felt cold.

Her fingers twined through his. "Come on, this way. I know you're going to have a hard time believing this, but other than me and my maids, you're the first person to see the inside of my little summer house."

He followed her blindly down the path. "If I didn't think that, I wouldn't be here."

"You are so hard on people. How will you get through life, being that way? You'll always be lonely."

"I'm never lonely."

"Alone, then."

"Being alone isn't a burden for me."

She stopped abruptly, and when he bumped into her, she was back in his arms. A cool finger stroked his jaw. "Ever?"

He could feel his control slipping away again. How the hell did she keep doing this to him? He said drily, "Sometimes I do miss my Master."

She giggled like a girl and continued leading the way. He knew she could see right through him, and probably always had been able to, but he found that it didn't bother him. She had a gift, that she could see him clearly without judging, and laugh at him without hurting. "How do you do that?" he mused aloud.

"Do what?"

"Make fun of me without making me angry."

"It's because I love you."

"It can't be that simple."

"Oh, love isn't simple. Not at all."

The summer house was lit, and by the faint gold of the light coming from it, ten paces further up the path, he could see her expression. She was serious, even solemn. Then the merriment came back into her eyes and she pulled him along again. At the door she slipped off her zori and looked at him expectantly. He stared back, scowling. She folded her arms on her chest and tapped her foot impatiently, standing there blocking the door. He gave an exaggerated sigh and sat to take off his boots. But she wasn't finished with him there; she also made him leave his sword just inside the door. "If I'm going to be stuck with something, I don't want it to be that big sharp object," she said, and while he stared after her, wondering if she could possibly have said anything quite so vulgar in those dulcet tones, she set out sake and cups on the table in the center of the room. The gown she wore was loose, pale green with a pattern of bamboo and flying birds, beautiful not only in design but in the way it flowed around her curves. Her hair was tied loosely back and fell in a long thin trail down her back almost to the ground. He did for her what he would have done for no one else, and left his sword by the door.

The summer house was essentially one large room, but a door to his left indicated another smaller room was attached. Lacquered cabinets lined one wall, and another wall was nothing but a series of doors, obviously meant to open onto the garden. Against the fourth wall was a neatly made-up, oversized futon bed. There was a small brazier for heat in the colder months, now tucked away in a corner, but nothing for cooking. This was obviously a place meant only for entertaining or for a quiet retreat. On one of the cabinets was an untidy pile of scrolls, and he picked one up. Hikaru said, "I'm practicing drawing and painting."

"You're not very good at it."

He could hear her smile in her voice. "No, but my calligraphy is excellent, I'm told, so I'll probably have to settle for that. Come and have some sake. Maybe it will improve your manners."

"I doubt it." He turned and found her almost directly behind him. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. She'd had some sake, he could taste it on her mouth, and when she stopped kissing him, he remarked it was the best sake he'd ever had, which made her do that absurdly childish giggle. He was beginning to like that.

"Want to see something else I do well?" she offered.

"Why don't you let me judge for myself if you do it well."

She regarded him from under her lashes for a moment, smiling. Then, still holding him, she brought her right leg slowly up, and up, until her toe was pointing straight at the ceiling. Still slowly, with perfect muscular control, she brought it down to the level of his shoulders, crooked it, and ran her calf down his back to encircle his waist with her leg and hold him against her. "I'm a dancer," she said. "What's your opinion?"

He could cheerfully have choked her. Every single nerve ending in his body was now alive to her, and his senses totally full of her. He was conscious of the faint perfume she wore, of the fine pores of her skin, of the sheen of her hair and every long lash that shielded her eyes. Once again she'd simply snatched his control away. He waited to answer until he was absolutely certain his voice wouldn't squeak, then said, "Let me see you dance."

"Now? I'm not dressed for it. I don't even have a fan."

"I thought you said you were good."

She was challenged, and gave him a speculative stare before unwinding from around him and moving to the center of the floor. She pulled her hair up and tied it in a casual knot, out of her way. "I'll do something short. The story of the frog who was in love with a bird. At least there are only two roles. You'll have to imagine the fan. And I will have to imagine the music," she sighed.

As soon as she struck the first pose, she forgot him. Her eyes were focused on something internal, perhaps the music she was trying to hear. With a few steps and a fluttering of her hand to indicate the missing fan, she created the bird for him, pretty and frivolous, and then the frog, ponderous, solemn, and squat. He watched the frog see the bird, fall in love with her, and pursue her, and the bird flirt with him. The frog offered the bird all he had, bits of food, and the bird ate it all and looked for more. When there was no more, she playfully flew away, leaving the frog broken-hearted and unable to follow. Hiko didn't know the story, but he had no trouble seeing what was happening, so expressive was the dance and Hikaru's skill. The simplicity didn't deceive him – he was a swordsman and could see and appreciate the complete control of her body which made the telling of the story possible, and he was impressed.

She held the frog's final pose for several seconds, arm reaching for what the poor creature could never achieve, her entire body eloquent of suffering. Then the spell broke, her eyes met his, and she got to her feet smiling. "Good enough?"

"Much better than just good," he said, taking the hand she extended to him. "If you were to take up the sword, you could be a Master in some styles."

"The Hiten Mitsurugi?"

"Not quite," he smiled. "The Hiten Mitsurugi involves a great deal more than just being able to find a proper kenjutsu stance."

"I was only joking, of course."

"Yes."

She laughed. "You look so offended. Show me a proper kenjutsu stance."

She was still in a challenging humor, so he indulged her, standing behind her to adjust her arm and body angle. When she had it right, she said, "You're right, it's not so different. Except I would pull out a fan and not a sword. Can you do this?"

"Are you deliberately insulting me?"

"Yes. The temptation is simply irresistible. You know, you could be a dancer. Stop _scowling_ at me, I'm serious now. I think you underestimate the dance. Why don't you try one of our more difficult poses? Then you won't think it so easy."

"All right, show me."

She was right, it wasn't easy. Or it wouldn't have been for an untrained man. He had no trouble getting the pose correct, even distracted by her flitting around him, adjusting it. Nor did he have trouble holding it. But he did admit to her it was more difficult than it appeared.

She made another minor adjustment and informed him, "Now, you must look _beautiful_ while doing it, too," and grinned when his lips twitched. "And you must hold it no matter what happens. Hold there." Then she dropped her entire weight on his extended arm.

He held, but it took all the strength he had, not to mention some self-discipline, because she was laughing and hanging on his arm like a mischievous child. When he was sure she knew that she wasn't going to break his control, he curved his arm and pulled her to him.

"Do you want some sake now?" she murmured.

"No. Later."

"Hmm." She straightened, kissed him once, gently, and went around the room, putting out all the lanterns but one. Then she sank to her knees with him on the bed.

He had not wasted the three years he'd been away from Tokyo. He couldn't forget how she had made him feel in the teahouse garden, oafish and clumsy. He'd determined that if he ever got to see her again, and if he got lucky enough to take her to bed, it would be different. He'd taken every opportunity that crossed his path to be with women and learn from them – how they acted, what pleased them. He'd become skilled, or so he'd been told, and in the back of his mind had been the hope that he could try his skills on Hikaru and prove to her he wasn't a clod. But the moment she touched him, he forgot it _all_, both his fears and his hard-won confidence. He embarked on a journey into a different world, where touching her and tasting her were completely new experiences, associated with no worries, fresh, a timelessly delightful series of pure discoveries. The way she'd kept snatching control from him earlier, he expected more of the same as they lay down together, but she neither led nor followed; instead, they became partners in giving and taking pleasure. His hands and eyes and mouth collected memories that would remain with him forever, to be brought out and treasured on lonely nights – the arch and curve of her hip, the way the muscles of her stomach quivered when he ran a finger along that softness, the velvety smoothness of her thighs along his, the way her hands seemed to cherish him with their touch, and, most of all, the womany smell and taste of her once the last of the perfume had been sweated away. He also discovered, to his delight, that she was a noisy woman in bed. All that geisha refinement left her, and he could follow her reactions to what he did to her and with her by the sighs, moans, chuckles, and ecstatic cries she made. She even talked, although she constantly lost her sentences in the middle and let them trail off into other sounds when he moved in a different way. She would moan his name, and it sounded erotically different, not his name at all but a primordial call to his body.

They took their time, so that when they finally came together, it was hot and exciting and exactly right. Then they lay resting, face to face, legs intertwined, and she began to giggle. He asked her if something was funny, and she said, "No, but I just feel so _good_." Which made him laugh, something he'd never done in bed with a woman.

When they were cooled, they got up to quench their thirst with sake, and she produced a robe for him, a silk counterpart to her own. He asked, just to see what she'd say, if it were one of Murasaki's, and she said tartly, "One of his wouldn't even cover your _arm_. I got it for you today." She pulled his hair out from under the collar and let it fall on his shoulders, then said, pleased with herself, "It looks good on you, too. Although, truthfully, you look better with no clothes."

"So do you." He meant that sincerely, too. Once he'd seen her as nature made her, he knew that nothing the most artistic tailor created could be half as lovely. "We could drink sake in the nude," he offered.

She frowned. "That's not civilized."

He resisted smiling. She was serious. So they drank sake in a civilized manner, out of the same cup, and then in a most uncivilized manner she climbed into his lap, straddling him, and informed him that he was sweaty and needed a bath. She took him through the door into the attached room, which was a small washroom, crowded by a good-sized tub half full of scented water. A sturdy brazier was heating a bucket of water in one corner, and Hikaru got a towel to protect her hands from the handle when she picked it up. She never got near it, however, for he stepped in front of her, took it up and poured it himself. There was no way she was going to do labor like that with him in the room, and the surprised, pleased look he got was a generous reward for such a small thing. "You're sweaty, too," he said over his shoulder as he poured. "I think we should take the bath together."

"You really are uncivilized. Come here and let me wash you, so you can get in before the water gets cold." However, she didn't say it in the same tone as with the sake, so he figured he could talk her into sharing the tub eventually. It took him about ten minutes, and getting her robe soaking wet, before she finally gave in, laughing, and slid into the water with him. They got clean, but never quite dry, because they ended up making love again on the floor, in too much of a hurry to even get out of the cramped little room. Then, warm and still damp, they curled up together again in the bed. She snuggled against him like a kitten, and he buried his nose in her hair where her neck curved into her shoulder and dropped at once into a profound sleep.

He was, of course, a light sleeper, as was any Hiten Mitsurugi Master. He would have awakened if her heartbeat had changed due to a dream. So when she rose and left the bed, moving so slowly and carefully, trying not to disturb him, he was instantly awake, alert, and amused. He said nothing, however, but let her have her illusion.

When she came back and sat beside him, she had washed again. All trace of his smell and of what they'd been doing was gone from her, and he knew then why she had risen. Holding her hair back with one hand, she bent and kissed him, butterfly-soft, on his cheek. Then she sat for several minutes, watching him sleep, as she supposed. He didn't grow restless; one thing that Hiten Mitsurugi taught was patience, and he let her do as she pleased. He supposed he always would.

Finally she said his name, quietly first, then a little louder, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Seijuro. Wake up."

He opened his eyes. "Why?"

"I have to go now. Can you leave before dawn?"

He sat up. "I can leave now."

"Don't, if you need more sleep."

"You're ridiculous. Stop trying to baby me." Then he surprised himself by doing something completely uncharacteristic. He caught her wrist and said, "Don't go."

"I must," she said softly. "My husband will be home any moment. I must be there to greet him, especially if he brings company."

"At this hour?"

"It's not at all unusual."

"He has no consideration for you."

"He does, in other ways."

He didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to think about Murasaki at all, and particularly not about Murasaki's plump, wrinkled, money-grubbing hands on Hikaru. "At least don't..." he began, then bit it off. What had come over him to make him so weak?

Worse, she understood. "I wouldn't. Not tonight. "

"He's your husband."

Her mouth curved. "I have my ways. Although, truly, they're rarely necessary." She kissed him once more. "Don't worry. Will you come back tomorrow night?"

He'd had it with his own weakness. "I don't know."

Her hand in his tightened. "Please."

How could one single, whispered word melt him like snow in a fire? "I'll come. The same time?"

"Yes. And Fujio goes to Kyoto on business tomorrow, to spend a few days, so I won't have to leave like this." She rose fluidly, then bent to kiss him once more. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Her smile was catlike, smug, and totally feminine. "Many things."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Hikaru left the summer house with dignified grace, but once in the gardens, she hurried to the house. Fujio had not yet returned from his meeting, but it was very late. She had stayed with Seijuro longer than she should have. She didn't have much experience with temptation, and she was discovering she wasn't good about resisting it.

With her maid's help, she got swiftly into a kimono, choosing one of her more elaborate ones to conceal the fact that her obi wasn't what it should be and her hair was more casually dressed than usual. Even so, she had barely made it into the front room and composed herself before she heard Fujio at the door, talking drunkenly to whoever he'd brought home with him. She was pleased at the sound. If he were already full of sake, and intended to stay up late and drink more, she'd need no wiles to keep her promise to Seijuro. Fujio rarely took her to his bed anyway, and never when in any way incapacitated by drink or fatigue.

Idiotically, the very thought of a bed brought Seijuro to mind, and she blushed so deeply that Fujio noticed. He had only one person with him, but that man was a local governor, a man of real influence. So when Fujio saw her flushed cheeks and took her aside to ask, with polite concern, if she felt well, she replied that she was shy in the presence of their honored guest. She told the lie convincingly, with practiced ease. One condition of their marriage which Fujio had not outlined to her and in fact would have denied, but which she'd known about anyway and accepted, was that she would have to lie to him as a husband just as much as she had as his mistress. She was allowed to be unwell, and he was caring and attentive on those occasions, but she was expected never to be upset, depressed, or angry. Furthermore, she was not expected to have her own opinion of his guests, but his. Until tonight, this had never been a problem, but, on the contrary, what she thought her life was supposed to be. So she lied now, smoothly, and naturally he believed her.

Fujio was so pleased by her answer that he told his guest, and the two had a nice laugh over it. Flattered by having this effect on a pretty woman, the guest mellowed and grew expansive. Hikaru did everything she was supposed to, but for once she had to concentrate on duties which she could normally have done in her sleep. Even so, she was good at what she did, and she heard the guest, as he left, tell Fujio that all men should have such wives. Hikaru smiled at that. It would put Fujio in a good mood for days, so when she told him tomorrow morning that Seijuro had come back into her life, which she must, he would take it well.

Once Fujio was comfortably settled in his bed, the front room restored, and the drowsy servants sent to their well-earned rest, Hikaru was still wide awake and restless, wondering where Seijuro was staying and if he, too, found it difficult to sleep. She sat in front of her mirror – a beautiful thing, gilt, a recent gift from Fujio – and stared at her own face as if it were a stranger's. In less than a day, Seijuro had managed to upset her entire life as if it were a vegetable cart, spilling out all the things she'd believed true and forcing her to look at them anew.

All her life, she'd wanted to be what she was now, the well-trained wife of a wealthy, influential, kindly man. She had never dreamed there was anything better to achieve. Her mother had filled her with the belief that the best thing in life was to become a geisha. Once in the okiya, everyone around her believed the best thing was to be a successful, famous geisha. Once among the other successful geisha, the ideal of real success and happiness was to become the mistress or, if one were _very_ fortunate, the wife of a man just like Fujio Murasaki. The submission, the gentle lies, and hiding one's feelings to present the proper façade were all necessary to life, she'd thought, as natural and normal as needing to dress warmly for the snow. Never once had she questioned what she did, and she'd taken pride in how well she did it.

Then along came Seijuro, and now she questioned everything. Even as Kakunoshin, so long ago now, he'd made her wonder. Love was something that ruined a geisha, so she had put that aside and pretended, even to herself, that she had never felt it for him, until she even began to believe it. He'd become a memory, no longer an emotion. Wonderful, but never to come again, and not part of real life, just a pleasant product of the starry nights and good sake and conversation.

Now he was back, and she could see with painful clarity how she had cheated herself. She wasn't living, only surviving, moving with what she considered success through a beautiful but bland and empty world, where her true face and her true thoughts were not wanted. She was contented, not happy. Except when she was with Seijuro.

She put her face in her hands. How had Seijuro done this to her? He'd opened doors in her soul and in her heart that she'd never dreamed existed, and another woman had emerged, one who was vibrant, passionate, _happy_. She'd done things with him tonight that she'd never done with anyone, things that made her face hot to remember, yet had seemed natural and right at the time. With Seijuro, she could be silly, or snappish, or wanton, or whatever she felt like being at any moment, and she could change in the very next moment, and he not only didn't care, he actually enjoyed it all. There was no understanding it. He didn't seem the type. He was rude, blunt, arrogant, and intolerant. What was wrong with her, that those qualities brought out all that was hidden in her, good and bad? Why should she feel such overwhelming joy while with him, when he scowled at her and insulted her? And why would a man like that come to her in the first place?

She knew the answer to all those questions, of course. He loved her. No matter how he growled or what beastly things he said, behind it all, he loved her. And his love was not a mood, not dependent on the time or place, or on her behavior. Seijuro was like the very stone of the mountains, solid and unchanging. He would love her forever. She didn't feel vain thinking that. It was simply a fact, like the sun rising or the rain falling. He would love her forever not because she was eternally loveable, but because that was the kind of man he was.

She lifted her head and looked into her own eyes. _I will love him forever, too._ However undeserving she was, fate had brought them together, she was certain, and their destiny was to love each other. The knowledge was both wonderful and terrible. From now on, she knew, she would live only for their time together, from visit to visit, getting by on habit and training in a hollow life between each visit, perhaps for the rest of their lives. That, too, was her fate. She not only accepted it, she embraced it. Life was hard, and it wasn't fair, and you had to work hard for everything you got. That was true for everyone. But few were given the joy she now had, and if those short hours made the rest of her existence seem lusterless and false, she was still grateful to have some happiness to seize.


	3. Chapter 3 Waiting

The next chapter in the long and involved affair between Hiko and my character, Hikaru. I have said to others who have read this chapter, "No matter whether you like him or not, if you can't feel sorry for Hiko in this story, you have a heart of stone." I don't know if that's true or not, but... I felt sorry for him as I wrote it.

Once more (do I have to do this for every chapter??), I don't own Hiko, except in the fantasy world in my own head. All other characters are my own invention. This is rated PG for some mild violence and language and for an adult theme.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Seijuro Hiko had nothing against Edo in particular. He disliked all cities. Cities bombarded him with noise and smells until he couldn't think at all, never mind find that inner core of balance which kept him in harmony with his energies. If he had a choice, he'd never enter a city at all. Unlike his former Master, who had actually liked cities, Hiko sought his sources of information in the country, in small towns, in rural military outposts, at inns and taverns, and in any number of other ways which avoided the crowds of a city. Still, for the past two years he had come to Edo anyway, whenever he could, every few weeks. There was something very special here, something he couldn't do without for too long. A woman named Hikaru.

He could almost hear what his Master would say about that. He knew very well that he was weakening his own powers and abilities by spending so much of his time and attention on a woman. He made an effort not to think of her at all when he wasn't in Edo, something that was easy if he was fighting or otherwise busy. But if he was bored or tired, and every time he lay down to sleep, she crept into his thoughts. No one else had that power over his mind. If the entire world were depopulated at once, he doubted he'd miss anyone except Hikaru.

They had a routine, unchanged since the first night they spent together. When he arrived in town, he stopped by the Murasaki home and had sake with her. Then that night he would let himself in through the back gate to her little two-room summer house. If her husband was at home, a few hours were all they could spend together, but Murasaki traveled a lot now that he was an important man, and he never took Hikaru with him. When he was out of town, Hiko would stay the night with Hikaru and sometimes the entire day as well. Those were the best times, when he could see her wake up, stretching and yawning before turning into his arms, or he could sit and drink sake while watching her work in her garden, or they could walk by the river or go shopping and he could see her in the sunlight and be a part of her everyday life. After he left Edo again, he always missed her for days before he could regain his mental discipline. She made what should be a simple life into something complicated, and she undermined his morals.

But she was the only temptation he couldn't resist, and the pleasure she gave him was the only thing in life better than good sake. Making resistance even more difficult, if he had even bothered to try, was the effect that _he_ had on _her_. She was fanciful and even silly; she said they had been fated to meet and were destined to always be together, and that he made her soul dance. As nice as that sounded, it was all in her head, but nevertheless he knew he was good for her. Each time he arrived, she was subdued, but with every passing hour they spent together, he could see her brightening, opening her eyes and heart and spirit, becoming more joyful. He'd never made anyone happy before, and doubted he ever would again, nor did he much care, but he took as much pleasure from watching her bloom in his company as she did in watching one of her trees burst into blossom. She said he let her be the woman she wanted to be. Maybe so. If so, that woman was the only one he wanted to be with. She made all other women seem coarse or dull in comparison.

Already thinking ahead to the night, smiling, he let himself through the front gate of the Murasaki residence. There had been times, at this point, when he'd actually bumped into Murasaki himself going out, but except for giving him a curious glance the first time, and a polite if distant nod after that, as a superior to an inferior, Murasaki didn't seem to care about him one way or the other. That angered Hiko. It was an insult to Hikaru. If he were married to Hikaru and knew she was being loved by another man, even if he had no clue to the depth and intense pleasure of that love, he'd still have killed him. But Murasaki, Hikaru assured him, had his own concerns, and as long as his wife kept him the envy of his acquaintance and was discreet, what she did with her nights was her own concern. Hiko had never quite gotten over his disgust at that, but it didn't matter. It left him free to enjoy Hikaru, and enjoy her, he did.

There was no Murasaki today, but something was wrong. He realized at once what it was. Hikaru was apparently messing around with her garden again, because all the white azaleas which had once lined the walk, as well as the camellia tree, were gone now. He didn't like the change. The walk was more open, but the effect was flat and tasteless. He couldn't believe Hikaru had done it deliberately. Maybe there'd been a blight.

Then the front door opened and a man came out. He was a stranger to Hiko, but there was enough resemblance to Murasaki for him to guess who it was. What was Ogai Murasaki doing here? Eldest son or not, Fujio Murasaki had never been fond of him, and he was one of the few people Hikaru actually disliked.

Ogai Murasaki turned to say something to someone in the house, then came out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him. His stance was aggressive, and Hiko restrained his temper. He was not going to fight on Hikaru's doorstep.

The man's tone was as belligerent as his stance. "What do you want here?"

"I see that the level of courtesy in the Murasaki home has lowered since the last time I visited," Hiko observed coldly. The rudeness was about to take on another dimension, too, he realized. On either side of him were two menservants, closing in warily, armed with clubs. When Murasaki saw them, long after Hiko knew they were there even though he had undoubtedly summoned them, he straightened to his full if insignificant height, like the master of his castle. Hiko was beginning to get a bad feeling about the situation.

"You're him, aren't you?" Murasaki demanded.

"Are we playing guessing games? Who am I supposed to be?"

"That slut's lover."

Hiko's blood came up so fast, he felt as if his head were on fire. He'd never been so swiftly angry in his life. _"Slut?"_ he repeated, very quietly. "Who do you mean by that?"

"That geisha my father decided to marry after my mother was in her grave." He gestured the servants forward. "Get him out of here."

The servants knew Hiko and were reluctant to attack him, but they were more afraid of disobeying Murasaki. They rushed forward all at once, signaling their attack so clearly beforehand that Hiko could have defeated them blindfolded. He didn't unsheath his sword, because he had no desire to harm these men. He simply rendered them unconscious, then stepped up onto the porch.

Murasaki had apparently never seen a true swordsman at work before, because he was so astonished by the speed of Hiko's victory that he didn't run away. Hiko said, still with icy calm, _"Slut?"_ Then he grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him off his feet, pinning him against the wall.

Bug-eyed, Murasaki clawed at his hand. Hiko waited a moment, then loosened his grip enough to let the man breathe again. "Would you like to reconsider your words?"

If he could have, Murasaki would have spit at him. "Why? After all, you're here, aren't you? To see her? She _is_ a..."

Hiko calmly cut his breath off again. "You truly are a stupid man. Where is your father? He wouldn't permit you to talk of his wife like that."

A woman came out of the door, her eyes huge and frightened. Hiko ignored her. When Murasaki's face took on a bluish tinge, he loosened his grip again. "Where is Fujio Murasaki, you unworthy dog?"

"Dead!" Murasaki gasped.

That was what Hiko had assumed. There was no way this coward would call Hikaru such names if his father were alive. He tightened his grip again.

The woman was pulling on his arm with all her strength. "Stop, you're killing him!"

"Yes, I know," Hiko agreed. He was enjoying it, too. The man's feet were beating a nice rhythm against the wooden wall, and his frenzied clawing at Hiko's hand was getting weaker. "But I'll give him one more chance to amend his manners. Where is Madame Murasaki?"

Once more he let the man breathe. When he could speak again, Murasaki gasped, his voice rasping harshly, "I don't know."

"Wrong answer," Hiko smiled, and started strangling him again.

The woman was in tears, begging him to let her husband go. "We don't know! It's the truth!"

He looked down at her. "Why not? Surely she didn't just walk away."

"Please, I'll tell you, but let my husband go. You're killing him!"

"Hm." He opened his hand and let the man fall. "Murasaki, if you wake up to this life again, thank your wife for it," he said, and rapped the man on the head with the hilt of his sword.

The wife hysterically wept over the inert body for a few minutes, while Hiko waited, hands on his hips. He had more patience with women now than he'd had two years ago. But his patience only stretched so far, and he finally growled, "Shut up, woman. He isn't dead. Yet. Whether he lives or dies depends on whether I believe what you tell me. And if you lie to me and I find out, I'll come back here and kill you both. Get up and talk. Now."

The story, when it finally all came out of the trembling woman, sorely tested Hiko's restraint. Fujio Murasaki, who had died three weeks ago, had left Hikaru a sum of money, far too much, according to Ogai. They'd fought over it (Hiko translated that to, Ogai had yelled and Hikaru had stood firm), and once it had been given to her, Hikaru had packed her personal possessions and left at once. She'd entrusted Ogai's wife with a letter to be given to Hiko, but Ogai had taken it from her as soon as Hikaru was gone and burned it. Another had come, also from Hikaru to be given to him, just a few days ago. This, too, had been burned. Anxious to please him when she saw his expression at this piece of news, the woman added, wringing her hands, that she'd seen enough of the first letter, as it curled in the fire, to remember the name of a street, but not the entire address. Black Pearl Street. Not much help, since that was a long street with both residences and rooming houses. He believed her, however, when she swore she didn't know anything else.

He leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. She looked as if she were going to faint. "Tell your husband he needs to mend his manners," he said. "If I hear that he ever again speaks of Lady Hikaru in anything but the most respectful of terms, I will come back here and cut him into six pieces, and his head will be the last of the six. Do I make myself clear?"

She did faint.

Disgusted, he strode out. He didn't look back. Without Hikaru in them, the house and gardens meant less than nothing to him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He hoped to get a shortcut to finding Hikaru by looking for Umeko, but Umeko had no idea where she'd gone after Murasaki's death. "I haven't seen her."

"If she writes to you..."

"She wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

She giggled. "I can't read, Master Hiko."

He gave up. The woman was an idiot. What had Hikaru ever seen in her to make her a friend?

It took him nearly two weeks of spending most of each day asking questions on Black Pearl Street before he finally got word of Hikaru at a small house on the corner of Yasami Street. The word, however, was maddeningly useless. Hikaru had rented the house from the owner, an elderly woman who was patently honest and willing to help him. But she knew nothing. When she'd returned from visiting her sister in the country, the house had been locked and Hikaru and every trace of her gone.

The next month was the worst of his life. He kept picturing Hikaru in the most horrible of circumstances, and his imagination seemed to have no limit to the number of scenarios it could trot out for his fear. He spent the whole time in Edo, looking for her everywhere, prowling the streets, the stores, the teahouses. He regularly checked with Umeko, but that woman, once Hikaru's best friend, had no word from her. He didn't practice, he didn't meditate, he rarely ate, and he didn't even drink sake. He did nothing but look for some trace of Hikaru. But it was as if she'd been wiped from existence.

Then, one night, he looked up wearily and realized that he was seeing another new moon and that he'd been looking for more than a month, and he gave up. He simply turned and started walking, and he didn't stop walking until, twenty miles from Edo, he finally became too tired to walk further.

He was 21 years old, and he felt as if he'd already lived an entire lifetime.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His mood followed the seasons. Through the summer he kept himself busy, and the killing brought back his discipline in all its clean glory while entire districts became safer for the honest and the innocent. But with the turning of the leaves, memories came back again, and he had to work to make himself accept that he would never see Hikaru again or learn what happened to her. He caught himself watching for her in the most ridiculous places, and every woman above average height would catch his eye and his attention, even if only for a moment. He couldn't afford the distraction, and the depression made lousy company, so he began to discipline his mind as rigidly as he did his body. For a time, it worked. As winter covered the ground with snow, a cold calm settled on him, and he buried all memories of Hikaru so deep that he no longer saw them. By the time the rivers were rising with the thaw, no thought of her had crossed his mind in weeks.

But the spring undid him again. Spring was Hikaru's favorite time of year. She passionately loved the bright green of new leaves and the opening of the flowers. For two springs he had followed her around her garden while she rejoiced in all the life coming forth after the winter sleep, from the tiniest bud of growth at the end of a tree branch to the sudden and immense burst of pink when her cherry grove bloomed. He was at his cottage when the season came, and everywhere he looked, as the forest revived from the winter, he saw things that he knew Hikaru would love. Where was she now? Was she still alive? Was she someplace where she was denied the joys of the spring? Discipline failed. He turned to sake and spent the better part of two months drunk.

Once the rush of revived life ended and the land settled into the long comfort of summer, he shook off his self-pity and gradually moved into a pattern of life that suited him. He was alone, but his nature was solitary anyway. Edo, and Hikaru, had been an aberration. He still regretted not knowing whether she was safe and happy, but he moved into acceptance that he would never know, this time a real acceptance and not just a covering-up of hurt. He hadn't seen her for a year. He could still vividly picture her face, but her image didn't intrude on him unbidden.

In this state of mind, although he still unthinkingly glanced twice at any woman above average height, when he did see her again at last, he almost passed her by.

His cottage was close to the outskirts of the city of Kyoto. He went into the city as little as possible, but sometimes there were things he had to buy which he couldn't obtain any other way, most notably sake. He was passing an open-air market on one of these trips, his mind occupied with tuning out the noise, as usual, and when he passed the tall woman holding up a draping of blue patterned silk, he glanced at her automatically and kept walking. He'd taken two strides before his mind caught up with what his eye had seen, and he spun around. _"HIKARU!"_

His voice was a carrying one. Half the block turned to look. Hikaru whirled and gaped at him, the silk falling from her limp fingers like water flowing. "Seijuro?" By that time he was in front of her, and she practically screamed his name and threw herself into his arms.

She clung to his neck; he covered her face with kisses. She said, "I thought you were dead," and he told her he'd feared she was. They agreed that they both looked well for two dead people, and he meant it. She was unchanged, as beautiful as ever.

He couldn't care less about the people passing and staring at them with interest, but Hikaru, when she came to herself again, did care. "We're going to create a scandal," she mock-scolded him, and pulled out of his arms.

"I don't care."

"Neither do I, but my husband will!"

"You're married? _Again?"_

"I'm a very desirable wife. And it's been more than a year, Seijuro! Come with me. There's a restaurant just down the way here. We can have sake and you can tell me why you didn't come for me."

"It was your fault."

"Of course it was," she agreed placidly. "Come on."

She knew the proprietress of the restaurant and got them a table far from any others, as well as some very good sake. He watched her pour, every graceful movement familiar to him and yet as wonderful as if he were seeing them for the first time. He couldn't stop staring at her, and she kept sneaking looks at him and then smiling.

She handed him his cup. "Now, tell me why it was my fault that you didn't come for me."

"Did you want me to?"

She was hurt. "Yes."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"I wrote you."

"You're an idiot. You trusted Ogai Murasaki."

"Not him. I gave the letters to Mayu."

"And she's his very obedient wife. He took them from her and burned them."

She was silent a moment, and he realized that he might be about to see her lose her temper for the first time. Interested, he watched as, eyes focusing on some distant inner place and cheeks reddening, she got herself under control. He was almost sorry when she won the battle and said softly, "He is a most unworthy son."

"He's a pig and a bastard."

"For once I'm not going to tell you to watch your language. But before we say how stupid I was for trusting Mayu and Ogai, why don't you tell me – how else I was to get in touch with you?" she added sweetly.

He'd seen that one coming, and grinned. "How was I to know Murasaki would die so soon? He wasn't that old, was he?"

"Sixty-four. That's no excuse." Her expression sobered. "We should have planned better. But I suppose it made no difference, in the long run. Nothing had changed, except I had no husband and no home. I still couldn't have gone with you."

"I would have liked to know where you were," he growled. "Look at you. I kept thinking you were sick and dying in a gutter somewhere. I should have known better. You're like a cat, you keep landing on your feet."

Instead of rising to the bait, she said sadly, "I knew you hadn't abandoned me. I knew you would come if you could. I thought you'd died, like your Master did."

Effectively disarmed, he shot back, "I searched the entire city of Edo for you."

That banished her sadness. "And you hate Edo!"

"I've been looking for you for a year now. Where did you go?"

"I came here, to Kyoto. You said once that your Master trained you on a mountain near Kyoto, so I came here. It was the only thing I could think to do."

"You've been here in Kyoto the whole time?"

"Don't shout."

"I'm not shouting."

"You might as well be. Yes, I've been here almost a year. Where have you been?"

"When I wasn't traveling, I've been here. On that mountain just north of the city."

Her smile was bittersweet. "My home is almost at its foot."

Only a few miles had separated them. Maybe even less. "Hikaru..."

"Don't look at me like that. And don't touch me, I'll start to cry."

He didn't think he could stand that. He pulled his hand back. "So who is this man you married this time?"

She responded to his tone rather than his words, and said softly, "It's not like that, Seijuro. Toshiro is nothing like Fujio Murasaki. He loves me very much."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes. Not as I love you, but yes. He's a good man in every way."

He realized he had found her only to lose her again. "No summer house."

"No." Being Hikaru, she didn't let that negative sit between them. "Is that all I've meant to you? Nights in the summer house?"

"Don't try to provoke me."

Her lips twitched. "Because it would be too easy and you might shout?"

"I'm not going to play games with you. What now? What are we now, Hikaru?"

"Why do you ask me?"

"Because I know you, and we will be what you want us to be, no matter what I say or do."

"Only because you are a gentleman and kind to me."

"Just like your husband. And we are both going to dance to your tune, aren't we?"

She laughed. "I love the way you make me feel my own power, and then take it away, all at the same time." She suddenly sobered again and put her fingertips to her lips. "I love you as much as I ever did." Her hand dropped back into her lap. "But I can't offer you what I did when I married Fujio. I made no such agreement with Toshiro. He knows about you, of course, but..."

"Do you tell everyone about me? No, let me take that back. You only tell your husbands. Hikaru, you're the most absurd woman I've ever known."

"That's only because I'm honest. Which is something else you've made me."

"I didn't make it, only released it. So be honest and tell me what you want."

"I don't know what I want. I only know what I don't want, and I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to leave me and never come back."

He felt his own expression lighten, and he smiled at her. What a ridiculous woman she was sometimes. "I won't. We won't lose each other unless you run off again."

"You'll show me where you live, so that if I must run off, I will have a place to run to."

"All right. I wish I'd thought to do that before."

"Edo is much farther away," she said quietly. "I didn't think of it, either."

He thought about how different the past year would have been, had they planned better and he'd returned home to the cottage and found her there waiting. It might not have been a blessing. He would have been faced with the choice between her and the Hiten Mitsurugi again, as he had when he was 15, but this time with no one to make the choice for him. He wasn't sure what decision he would have made, either. "You're better off with... what is his name, anyway?"

"Kimiyama. Toshiro Kimiyama."

"The potter?"

"You've heard of him?"

"Of course I have. His name is on pottery everywhere. You have done well for yourself. How did you meet him?"

"He had business dealings with Fujio."

"So he was one of those who envied Murasaki, was he?"

Her mouth puckered in an attempt not to smile. "You could say that. He wanted to marry me right away, but I told him about you. So he found me a house to live in, here in Kyoto, and helped me move."

He stared at her. Even for Hikaru, this was bizarre. "I can't be hearing this right. You left Edo in less than three weeks. Are you telling me this guy proposed marriage to you before Murasaki was even cold?"

"Yes."

"And then when you said no thank you, he brought you here to wait for another man to come and claim you?"

"It wasn't quite that simple."

"I should think not. No man is that stupid, even for you. What was the bargain?"

"Your rudeness has grown worse without my influence."

"Probably. But there was a bargain, wasn't there?"

The smile came out. "I told him I would wait two seasons, and at the first snowfall, if you hadn't come for me, I'd marry him. And that's what happened."

"He probably paid the rent on your house until then, too."

She chuckled but didn't reply. She didn't have to.

He drank off the last of the sake. "I hope he's happy with his end of the bargain."

"I believe he is. But you can judge for yourself. I want you to meet him. And I want him to meet you."

"I don't want to meet him."

"I don't care. If you and I are to be friends, then you two must meet."

Hiko's Master had once said to him that the last word a man ever wanted to hear from the mouth of a woman he wanted was the word "friend." As about so many other things, his Master had been right. "I'm not your friend, Hikaru."

"I know, but we're going to call it that. Stop trying to pick a fight with me."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"No, I'm just trying to fight the inevitable." Seeing her expression change, he said quickly, "Don't give me any of that crap about our destinies bringing us back together. It has nothing to do with fate and everything to do with a very stubborn, willful woman."

"One day, when we're old and grey, you'll admit it's fate for us to be together."

"Never. Even if I believe it, I'll never admit it."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Her Kyoto home was similar to her Edo one. Larger, more rambling, built around even more extensive gardens, but still, everywhere, was the unmistakable stamp of her personality. From the profusion of green in the gardens to the furniture in the house, all was arranged with casual perfection, clean, balanced, harmonious in color and shape. He could feel himself relaxing within seconds of entering, and he had to work to resist. He didn't want to be relaxed. He was still angry with her. Staying angry with Hikaru was difficult, but he was a Hiten Mitsurugi Master, he could do it. When she went to fetch sake (and her husband), she told him to sit and be comfortable. He remained standing, arms folded on his chest.

A man came in alone, a neat, trim man in his 30s, of average height, probably no taller than Hikaru herself, who probably would have been overlooked in any crowd if one didn't look at his eyes. These were dark and very alive, full of intelligence, edged now with both wariness and a wry amusement at the situation. "I am Toshiro Kimiyama," he said, unnecessarily.

"Seijuro Hiko." No bows were exchanged, although there was no hostility between them, only a wariness still.

"I've asked Hikaru to bring sake."

"I won't drink your sake."

The amusement in his eyes deepened. "She told me you could be rude."

"I'm not rude, I simply don't have patience for the usual social conventions."

"Another way to state the same thing. But I won't try your patience. I know who and what you are to Hikaru, and I'm meeting you only on her insistence."

"It's the same for me, and I have no idea why she insists."

"I might be able to enlighten you. My grandfather had a saying, 'The bear you see is always smaller than the one you hear snuffling in the brush'. Although, in your case, I'm not certain that's true." The humor faded, leaving only the wariness. "My wife says she wishes to keep your friendship, even now. I trust my wife, Master Hiko."

"You can trust me. You have my word. I'll neither touch her nor expect anything more from her than her friendship." He hated saying the words and giving up even the last possibility of tempting her into changing her mind. But having seen this man, he knew he didn't have a chance anyway. This wasn't a man that any decent person would betray, much less a woman like Hikaru. "Tell her you met the bear. I'll come sometime next week and show her where I live," he said, and bowed, and left.

Crossing alone through the gardens back to the gate, he slowed a moment and looked around, and realized the gods must be having yet another good laugh at his expense. He hadn't thought to ask that she return to him, much less that he receive another summer-house arrangement with her. He'd only asked to know that she was safe and comfortable. Now he knew she was both. Eventually he might even learn to be happy about it.


End file.
